Schubas – But How Good is the Food?

I am disappointed in your lack of apostrophe, Schubas.

3159 N. Southport


Just about everyone that reviews this historic little bar and grill will tell you “the entertainment is fantastic” or “booze booze, baby” with no regard to how their Southern-style cooking stacks up. There’s a reason the waiter gives you a menu, and it’s not because the good people at Schubas want to provide a biting satire of the food industry and to prove solid food’s inferiority to music and alcohol, and possibly to revolutionize the digestive tract. That isn’t the case because that would be fucking silly.

So I went to Schubas, but for a very rogue and counterculture reason: to grab a snack for brunch. I could be biased since I’m not a gigantic breakfast food fanboy, but I will try to be somewhat impartial.

The decor is fine enough. They set up the back of the place where the music is played like an opera house you’d find in rural nebraska, with wood carvings and whatnot that make it seem very appropriate when folk music is played. But, rock? Prepare for clashing atmosphere.

After a mysterious 15-minute delay (although it was an isolated incident, being that those I were having brunch with had their meals at this point), I got my hands on some corncakes with eggs (not to be confused with corncrakes – they have eggs too), which are sort of like vegetable pancakes with cheese baked in. Unappetizing? Only slightly. But had they not put so much salsa and a dollop of sour cream on top of the eggs, I would have been rather satisfied with the dish. It would have been fine on the side. What I got was all the ingredients thrown together in a pile, and my tastebuds were too busy having arguments with each other over what to sense rather than to enjoy my meal.

The highlight of the food was really the beignets, which is the Southern equivalent of funnel cake. I hadn’t had those since I was very little. Had they not tasted exactly like funnel cake, I guess I would have felt more nostalgia.

I would have stayed to order something other than the corncakes, but I was quickly hurried out of my table to make way for a “school of rock” shindig where some emo-looking kids play in a group that their parents pour ridiculous money into. Kids, really now. When it comes down to it, which is more important: you expressing yourselves, or me having a decent meal? …I think I just answered my own question. Oh well, it was frustrating nonetheless.

If you’re into southern food, I’d recommend Wishbone over this. But if you want to hear good music and soak your stomach enough to swerve into a pole, then I highly recommend Schubas.

Wishbone – Screamin’ Spices and Screamin’ Kids


3300 N. Lincoln Avenue


Dave needs your help, comrades.

We got this lovely little “Southern Reconstruction” home cookin’ place on North Lincoln. If you’re a guy and you’re straight, and you try their Hoppin’ John side dish, you’ll suddenly decide you have a thing for guys – but only the ones named John who can hop. The corn muffins are top-shelf in sweetness and texture. In short, I dare you to find more authentic fare north of the Mason-Dixon. It’s just a tad pricey, but worth every penny.

But here lies the problem: it’s basically the Chuck E. Cheese’s of jambalaya joints. No matter what day you come in, there’s always going to be few tables of screaming toddlers trying to have their first sit-down restaurant experience. You’d think with the epic Jolly-Rancheresque Pomegranate martini I had that this place is universal in its age range. But I only found a couple of people at their booths that were just on simple dates, the rest (to be fair, myself included) were with their parents. The wine list was specifically labeled “ADULT DRINKS.”

“But mooooom, wai can’t I haff an adolt dwinkie?” That was painful to write. You get the idea.

It’s all a matter of taste, really. If you’re not like me and you can stand seeing families get a little dysfunctional and awkward, then by all means stuff yourself at this rainbow-chicken-decorated wonderland. You’d think I would be exaggerating about the rainbow chickens, but literally the chickens are everywhere. That’s not a bad thing, unless you have a deep-seated hatred for all things poultry. In which case I probably think you’re a douchebag.

But if you’re an adult and not a big fan of hectic yuppie family hi-jinks, then consider this a call to action. Go there anyway. We need a less annoying crowd. We don’t need good food refused to us (that is, without any staff actually refusing it to us – the service is very friendly – I’m talking about the other customers) just because we’re in the minority! Sit down, pull out some earplugs, and eat that goddamn jambalaya like you earned it by not dying for long enough to be an ADULT!

I don’t hate kids, don’t get me wrong, all I’m asking is for a little more diversity. So to any kids who are reading this, you know your hungry bastard uncle Dave loves you just the way you are. Also, see that B-word I used? Try it a few times with your friends. It’s fun.